Of Those Living In Glass Houses
by G-Guardian
Summary: Mito, Hashirama, Madara: Of battles that can't be won.


"_He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. For when you __gaze__ long into an __abyss the abyss also gazes into you"_

_Friedrich Nietzsche  
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><p><em>-"A labyrinth,<em>_then?"_

She questions as she glances down, irises concealed behind the dark curtain of long lashes, her legs tucked under silvery fall of heavy fabric, back and spine erect. Her Hands aflight in a flurry of sure, precise moves as she seals and unseals layers of illusion into old tattered parchments. Fine threads of gossamer, she weaves them in a graceful dance of finger and power, until all that remains is a kaleidoscope of colors: enchanting yet fickle in nature, as they often are.

He stands tall, proud, the ever adamant center of the universe towering over a dark suit of armor, the solemn press of his lips mirrored in the smooth crimson tinted surface as his calloused fingers graze against the cold unfeeling piece.

_-"A labyrinth…"_ he echoes, words heavy with bitterness as he draws them out, " _No" _ he says the corners of his mouth tilted downward from the unsavory taste.

She stills her hands.

The light of day flickers as it runs a listless caress over the bland bamboo walls. The breeze falters at the edge of the ajar shoji screens and then wanders in, in hushed steps, humbled by the somber spell cast about the room.

He seats himself behind the low worn out table, posture mirroring hers, forearms laid bare against the haggard wood, palms tilted upwards.

_-"What is a labyrinth but a tangled web of deceit? A case of wasted merit? Where the strong perishes and destiny is left to hands of the weak, the machination of the fools?"_

"_No," _he says, his eyes resolute.

"_Better to test sword by fire than to have it crumble before the first blood is drawn. Better to raise walls of steel, perched over each a marksman over them your banner held high, than to cower beneath the sweet stench of falsity; the hand holding the dagger concealed by the hand offered in peace."_

_-"And so you shall raise them, walls of steel all around you. A bastion, its barracks impregnable, its defense absolute. A castle undeceiving to the barest of eyes and a beckon to all those seeking glory. "_

She utters in a soft hum as her fingers edge toward his, hovering a whisper above his palm, there, she stays her hand.

"_A challenge he is sure to call upon." _

"_Tell me then, what shall happen when the last line of defense fails, the last wall crumbles? When it is just you and him nothing between you but a breath of dust?" _

A soft glimmer of mirth blooms in his gaze and the barest flash of teeth become visible in his smile as his hand envelopes her tight stony fist.

_-"Then, I shall run."_

She tugs her hand free. And seeks to calm the sudden flutter of her enraged heart as the seven winds whirl swiftly around her and the yawning chasm of memories swallows her whole. And she is, once again, young and world weary and there he is, an ocean untainted, tranquil waters and untouched sands.

_Other worldly_ her mind had whispered.

_Incorruptible_ her heart had pled.

Yet still, relentlessly, she pushes forward. Like a wave, unwilling, powerless to cease before the inevitable fall.

_-"And what will you do then, stripped bare of the last chunk of armor, flesh whipped raw by the spiteful winds, having outrun the world and void themselves and still hounded by him who won't leave your spoils save for the oblivion." _

Something shifts in the strong set of his jaws then, rippling all around them as the dark chasm of his eyes gives birth to a breathless song. The hot echoes of which resonate in her blood and she can feel them graze her senses with a feathery touch that sets ablaze an ancient scar of burn in a telltale glow of crimson and gold.

-"_Then, I shall fight_." He breathes as all around them the winds howl and the walls unbound. And she watches him with unseeing eyes: a searing beacon of light and defiance, all risen sword and soul, as he delivers the world anew from the maw of darkness; Leaving in his wake the glorious stench of devastation and blood.

And then it all winds down. The universe inhales in a hushed gasp and speeds on. The breeze caresses the soft tips of her tresses and lifts up the hems of his long loose sleeves as they sit, gazes locked, divided by an invisible thread of silence that gives way to a rift, a crack, an abyss.

And later when the light of the day bleeds into a ghastly black and the universe exhales in a shimmering sigh; her words, barren and acrid, dangle on the edge of uncertainty as her heart laments a merit spoilt:

_-"And what then? When the last sword is sundered and our ashes are long scattered to the winds, when you remain and yet so does him. When your visage is his, carved out of ivory and his right hand is your left, raised against the gods. What then, love, when there is no triumph, no defeat, just an eternity with darkness manifested in shape of a foe, whose mirror image you embedded in your soul?"_

And she leans in, over the clutter of scrolls and heavily detailed battle plans, her breath ghosting over his parted lips, the jagged edge of her words belied by the unveiled sorrow in her gaze as the dark fall of her hair casts shadows against his eyes.

_-": Do not delude us both, heart, the fight is ever the compromise." _


End file.
